


Take My Whole Life, Too

by yeah_you_bleed



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_you_bleed/pseuds/yeah_you_bleed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Whole Life, Too

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot idea that wouldn't leave me alone till I wrote it.

Spike lies down beside Angel. Angel smells like blood, and burnt fabric, and the puddles in the alleys that are more whiskey than they are water. But somewhere beneath that, he still smells like Angel. Like leather, and hair gel, and deceptively human. Spike finds comfort in it, especially now. It's familiar, reminds him that he's got Angel even though the world's going to shit just beyond the boarded-up window.

Their hands brush together. Spike's is stiff, and dark with bruises from something that's probably broken. Angel's is slick with blood from his split knuckles. 

Angel's the one who interlaces their fingers. Spike lets him. Staring up at the ceiling, he gives the older vampire's hand a gentle squeeze. Hot pain darts up the length of his arm. The corner of his mouth twitches in response. 

"It's been a long day." Angel murmurs beside him. His voice scratches. Blood bubbles in his slit throat.

Spike chuckles. It's weak, but it's sincere. "That's one way of puttin' it." He agrees. His thumb brushes over the back of Angel's hand. The pain is less intense.

Angel tightens his grip. Just a bit, just enough that Spike notices. He doesn't say anything, but Spike sees the look he's got in his eye. There's pain there, and distress. An overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Spike squeezes his hand in return. "You'll feel better if you sleep." He says. The hand holding Angel's is practically numb at this point. The rest of his body is another matter. Pain burns underneath his skin, like there's sunlight in his veins. He's a right mess, pale skin mottled with black bruises and awash with scarlet. 

"Yeah," Angel says, with a smile that doesn't reach his eye, "Maybe." He turns his head away, towards the window.

Spike lets his gaze linger. Angel's fear-scent is strong. "Stop listening." He tells him quietly. 

Angel looks away from the window. Back up to the ceiling, masked by thick black shadows. "It's hard not to." He replies, matching Spike's volume. 

"You can't do anything right now." Spike says.

"I can hear them screaming." Angel replies.

Spike shifts closer. Their shoulders are touching now, torn leather on torn leather. "You need to rest." He insists. Because for all of Spike's pain, Angel is still in a worse-off condition. He can hear his bones shift and scrape every time he moves. Half-healed cuts splitting open when he breathes in too deeply. Only one brown eye left.

Angel squeezes Spike's hand tighter. "Everything hurts." He whispers. He looks back to Spike, back to blue eyes. His expression is a storm of emotions.

Spike nods. He leans into Angel, brings their foreheads together. "I know, love." He murmurs. There's so much he wants to say, but there just aren't enough words.

Angel closes his eye. His face is still troubled, still in turmoil. There's a million thoughts racing through his head, and all of them involve the war raging just beyond the boards. The dragon's husk lying in a grave built of Wolfram & Hart's rubble. The fires bursting from the ground like flowers, licking at the sky in their hunger.

It's been a long day. Too much has happened.

Spike is awake when Angel drifts. Angel looks old, like every day of his 250+ years have caught up with him. And even when he slumps, when his expression slackens, he still looks old. There is peace on his face, yes. But there are stress lines underneath his eyes. 

And Spike just _feels_ old. Suddenly, 130 isn't as young as it should be. His face is like Angel's was. Troubled, distressed, a stormy sea of emotions that he can't quite figure out. Too deep to swim, too dark to see.

Exhaustion gnaws at every inch of his skin. It darkens the corners of his vision. But he won't sleep. He can't close his eyes, not without seeing Hell burned into his eyelids. Darkness broken by fire, by a sea of red and searing white. 

He can listen to the outside, to a world beyond the window. Where there's screaming, and sirens, and tires screeching on asphalt. Where the air smells like iron, and copper, and fear and blood. 

Spike wants to go back out there. Force himself up on his broken bones and fight. Force his broken hand to hold a sword so that at least one more demon bites the fucking dust before he gets himself killed. Because his throat's not slit, his eye wasn't gouged out, he can still put up a half-decent fight.

Spike opens his eyes. He doesn't remember shutting them. Angel's asleep, breathing steadily even though he doesn't need to. He tries to concentrate on that noise, tries to turn his attention away from the Hell beyond the boards. He concentrates until Angel's all he can hear. Shallow breaths that whistle somewhere in his lungs.

Maybe if it weren't for Angel being there, he'd be out fighting. If Angel wasn't lying there beside him, if their hands weren't clasped together. If Angel didn't look so damn vulnerable whenever he didn't need to look brave. Maybe then, Spike would've gone back to the battlefield. Like part of him wants to, like the other part needs to.

But not tonight. Because Angel is there. Lying beside him, all broken and mangled. Their hands are clasped together like Angel's a ship in a storm and Spike's the anchor. Angel looks too vulnerable, because he can't make himself look brave. Spike can't leave him, not now. Not after everything they'd just been through. Not after today. Not when Angel _needs_ him. 

So Spike stays. Because Angel needs him to. Because they're all they've got now. Side by side, hand in hand.

Spike closes his eyes.

It's been too long of a day.


End file.
